Son Of The Warp
by Meshakhad
Summary: A new demigod arrives at Camp Half-Blood... and brings some shocking revelations about the world they all live in.
1. Everyone Goes Insane

A/N: This story begins approximately a month before the events of _Sea of Monsters_, shortly after Thalia's tree has been poisoned.

It also begins in 006.M3, during the Age of Terra.

* * *

CLARISSE LA RUE

It was a horrible thing to admit, but part of Clarisse was happy that Thalia's tree had been poisoned. The games and hunts that made up much of life at Camp Half-Blood were thrilling, but there wasn't supposed to be much risk of dying, or even serious injury. More importantly, the stakes weren't very high – just bragging rights, really. Like any child of Ares, Clarisse loved fighting for its own sake, but if she hadn't been that type, she probably would have tired of capture-the-flag by now.

Patrol was different. Here, she was actually _doing_ something. The safety of Camp Half-Blood depended on her and her squad. And there was no guarantee that they would come back alive. Clarisse wasn't afraid. That was the risk you took when you went into battle.

Behind her, Darryl Hayden's shield clanked against his sword. One of the disadvantages of using ancient Greek weapons was that you made a lot of noise. Which meant that if there were monsters threatening the camp, they would probably hear the patrol before they saw them. That was definitely a bad thing, but Clarisse was happier to have the armor. Stealth wasn't her thing, anyway.

The patrol was just reaching Thalia's tree. Beyond, Clarisse could see the first rays of the dawn creeping over the horizon, illuminating the sickened tree. It was a reminder of how long she had been awake – four hours. No doubt she would crash when she got back to her cabin.

"NOOOOO!" screamed Darryl from the rear. Clarisse's head snapped around, but she couldn't see what Darryl was screaming about. Mark started flailing about, swinging his shield wildly. His eyes locked with Clarisse's for a moment, and she recognized the look he gave her. It was similar to the look she had seen on Luke's face when he had been caught TPing Mr. D's house – and Mr. D had driven him insane for a day.

"Peter!" she called out. "What do you see?"

"The lights, the lights, the lights!" he replied. "They will light the way to HELL!"

It was odd to hear a half-blood use the word "hell". Some campers used "Hades" in a similar fashion. But Peter's adoptive father was a Bible-thumping preacher, and he was one of the few campers who was genuinely Christian. Clarisse pushed the thought from her mind, and focused on what was important. Namely, that the rest of her patrol had just been driven insane.

Darryl was kneeling on the ground, crying out in despair. Mark was attacking the air. Peter was just staring down the hill at something. Clarisse's eyes skimmed the forest, looking for something – anything – to explain what was going on.

That's when she saw him.

A boy was riding up the hill on a dark grey bicycle. He was thin and scrawny, clearly struggling with the climb. He had golden hair, blue jeans, and a black T-shirt on. He seemed perfectly ordinary – which was patently impossible. Clarisse knew that Thalia's tree could no longer prevent monsters from entering the camp, but mortals should still be kept out.

"Get behind the hill!" he shouted. His voice had an odd resonance to it. Clarisse found herself scrambling down the hill almost before she had time to think about it. To her surprise, the others followed, still screaming and chanting and flailing like before. The boy vanished briefly, then reappeared over the crest. He dismounted his bike, letting it fall to the ground.

"Joseph Regent," he introduced himself, pre-empting Clarisse's first question. And the second: "There's two of them. They look like women, but I don't think they're human. They're carrying these torches – I think that's what drove your friends insane."

Clarisse didn't like it when people acted like they knew everything. "And how exactly did you find that out without going insane yourself?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm already insane. People have been calling me crazy for years."

"Great." Clarisse rolled her eyes. Just what she needed – a smartass.

His eyes locked with hers, now devoid of humor. "I looked into the light. I saw… madness… in them. But for whatever reason, I didn't spaz out. I'm sure there's an interesting explanation, but judging by what happened to your friends, I have to assume that I'm a special case."

Clarisse huffed. She didn't like having big questions like that unanswered, but there wasn't much she could do. "Any crazy ideas on how to kill those things?"

Joseph's eyes wandered for a second, then settled on the spear in Clarisse's hand. "Stab them?"

The idea itself was appealing, but Clarisse understood the subtext. "So I just sit here while you go and save the day?"

To her surprise and relief, he shook his head. "I'm not a fighter. If all they can do is drive people insane, then I could do it, but if they have anything else up their sleeves…"

"Can you describe them?" she asked. Any information would be useful.

"I can do one better." Joseph drew a cellphone from his pocket. Clarisse recognized it as a camera phone. Joseph flipped it open, pressed a couple of buttons, then handed it to Clarisse. The picture was small, but she could make out two humanoid figures – gaunt, wearing black robes, and carrying torches that shone with a violet light.

"Lampads," she breathed, recognizing them. "Nymphs of the underworld. Companions of Hecate. And yes, their torches can bring madness. I don't know about anything else, but as Hecate's the goddess of witchcraft, I'm not taking any chances." As much as she wasn't liking Joseph, he was the only person who could look at them safely. If they realized he was a threat, they could probably turn him into a toad or a statue or any number of things that would render him useless. So whatever he did had to take them out quickly, before they reacted.

"If we could just get put out the torches…" Joseph wondered aloud. That's when Clarisse had her eureka moment.

"Follow me," she ordered, grabbing his hand by the wrist and pulling him along. He half-ran, half-dragged his feet trying to keep up with her. "Slow down!" he shouted.

She ignored him.

After about a minute of running, dragging, and some whining, they arrived at the volleyball courts. Coiled up in one corner was a bright green garden hose, normally used to hose unfortunate campers (and, in theory, clean the volleyball courts). Clarisse took cover behind the colonnade surrounding the court. She gripped her spear tightly, and closed her eyes.

"Are they coming this way?" she asked.

"Yep!" Joseph replied.

"When they get close, I want you to spray them with the hose. Try to put their torches out. Once they're out, yell, and I'll attack them."

She heard the sound of water splashing onto ground. So at least the hose was working. She briefly wondered who had left the valve open. Seconds crawled by. Clarisse always hated waiting, but waiting with your eyes closed was worse. She had no idea what was going on out there. And she was putting her trust in some kid she barely knew. Assuming he wasn't a monster in disguise, he was probably a half-blood – that would explain how he could get past Thalia's tree. Maybe he was a son of Dionysus – that would explain how he could look into the torchfires and not –

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a torrent of water, followed seconds later by a pair of decidedly unnatural screams. Joseph's voice broke through, again with that odd resonance she'd heard earlier: "NOW!"

Clarisse opened her eyes. She could see the Lampads now, standing on the dirt path leading into the camp. They were shorter than she'd realized, barely five feet tall apiece. Most notably, their robes were soaked, and their hands clasped torches that no longer burned. They wore shocked expressions, presumably due to what Joseph had just done to them.

Adrenaline surged, and Clarisse charged. The Lampads seemed not to notice her at first. She closed the distance between them in seconds, and drove her spear through the first one's heart. She drew back the spear in a quick, practiced move, letting her victim crumple to the ground. The other Lampad seemed to notice, and turned to Clarisse, but she had no intention of giving it a chance to do anything. She whirled around, rotating on the balls of her feet, and thrust upwards. Her spear pierced the creature's neck, emerging from the back of its head coated in thin grey blood, cutting short its scream in a horrible gurgle. The first corpse disintegrated, followed quickly by the second, leaving only their torches behind.

Joseph stared at the ground where they had been. He looked a little queasy. He took a deep gulp, and turned back to her.

"Okayyy. Now that we're out of imminent danger, I have a few questions for you. Starting with, who are you, what is this place, and why are you wearing ancient Greek armor?"

* * *

JOSEPH REGENT

The most amazing thing of all was how readily Joseph had accepted this.

After killing the Lampads, the warrior girl – her name was Clarisse La Rue – had taken Joseph to go find the camp director, Mr. D. "Mr. D" turned out to be short for "Dionysus", the Greek god of wine, theater, and madness. The last part had proven to be important, as he had been able to restore the sanity of Clarisse's comrades.

The revelation that the Greek gods were real had shattered Joseph's worldview. He considered himself fortunate that mythology was among his interests, so he at least knew quite a few of the stories. He also found it amusing that Mount Olympus was now atop the Empire State Building. And it did fit all the available facts. And if the Greek gods were real, and were anything like they were in the stories, the existence of a large number of demigods made sense. Still, it was a little hard to get his head around the idea that Clarisse was the daughter of Ares.

But then Dionysus had dropped the bomb. His words still rang in Joseph's head. They had been almost casual, as if it wasn't a big deal.

"You, Joseph Regent, are a demigod. There is no other way that you could have entered the camp without an invitation."

It did at least explain the mystery of his own birth. Joseph had known for two years that he was adopted. His adoptive father, Karl Regent, had told him that his biological mother was Gallina Thompson, a patient at the Hudson River Psychiatric Center in Poughkeepsie. She had been there since she was 13, her mind a tragic casualty of the abuse her stepfather had heaped on her. No one knew how she had gotten pregnant, but she had, and Joseph had been put up for adoption after birth.

After that, Clarisse had shown him a short orientation film. It explained a lot – how Camp Half-Blood was a refuge for demigods, how many famous people in history had been demigods, how people were claimed, and so on. By now, most of Joseph's important questions had been answered.

But one still remained.

Now, Joseph sat in the mess hall. As one of the unclaimed demigods, he sat at the Hermes table. The co-counselors of the Hermes cabin, Travis and Connor Stoll, were very friendly, telling jokes to keep everyone entertained during breakfast. Joseph caught the distinct impression that they were also doing it to keep everyone's minds off of things like the camp being in danger.

Joseph turned to the camper next to him, a chubby girl with red hair, freckles, and pale grey eyes. The one question burned inside him, and he needed to figure it out.

"So, Hanna, I didn't catch who your divine parent is," he said pleasantly. Hanna frowned, and looked down at her plate.

"I don't know. I've been here about a year and a half, and I still haven't been claimed." Her voice carried a strong Boston accent.

Joseph felt a tinge of regret for bringing it up. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you… do you have any idea who it might be?"

"Well…" she looked up at the ceiling, "I'm pretty handy with a bow, so it could be Apollo." She shrugged. "Part of the problem is that I don't know who my real human parent is, either. When I found out what I was, it pretty much destroyed my parents' marriage."

Travis Stoll turned his head towards Joseph. "You're wondering who your parent is, Joe?" he asked. Joseph's nostrils flared – he hated being called Joe. But he took a deep breath, and nodded.

"All that really comes to mind is that I looked into the Lampads' torches, and I didn't go crazy." In fact, Joseph had claimed one of the torches as his spoil. It was currently in the Hermes cabin, marking his bed until he got a chance to move in properly. The other, of course, had gone to Clarisse. "And I know who my mother is."

"Well, maybe Mr. D's your dad," Travis suggested. "He is the god of madness, after all."

Joseph turned to look at Dionysus. He couldn't come to think of him as "Mr. D", especially if he was Joseph's father. His eyes moved down to the Dionysus table. Only two campers were there.

"If I were Dionysus' son, wouldn't he have said something?" Joseph asked. "I mean, it's not like he has a lot of children, so I rather doubt he just 'forgot' about getting an insane woman pregnant."

Travis looked thoughtful. He spoke more slowly. "Well… the only other one I could think of would be Hecate. The Lampads are her servants."

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "Could a goddess get a human woman pregnant?"

Travis shrugged. "I don't know. I've never heard of it happening."

Joseph sat back, mind running through what he knew about other Greek gods, trying to figure out which one was his parent.

And then it happened.

He noticed his plate taking on a blue cast. He looked up, and saw a blue symbol floating above his head. It was shaped very vaguely like a flame. The entire mess hall went silent.

"Well," Joseph heard Travis say, "it looks like you've been claimed. Although I have no idea which god that is…"

Joseph's eyes were fixed on the symbol. It looked familiar. He was certain he'd seen it before.

Then he recognized it.

_No_, he thought. _It's not possible. I mean, Greek gods are one thing, but no one actually believes in… I mean, it's from a game for crying out loud! But if so, then where else did that symbol come from…_

_Oh no. If he exists, then so do the others. And that means… that means that…_

He felt the color drain from his face as utter terror came over him. He started shaking. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Joseph?" Travis asked, concern shading his voice. "Do you recognize that symbol?"

Joseph lowered his head, and looked him straight in the eye. "I do," he said slowly, deliberately. "It's the symbol of my father."

"And your father is…" Travis pressed.

"My father," Joseph said with a voice as cold as the void between the stars, "is Tzeentch. The Chaos god of ambition, change, magic, and planning."

A gasp came over from the Athena table. Travis looked confused.

"Who?"

* * *

A/N: The symbol in question can be seen here: . /_cb20090913105527/dawnofwar/images/f/fb/Symbol_of_ .


	2. So, We're All Screwed

TRAVIS STOLL

Travis was still confused. He had never heard of any god called "Tzeentch", nor did he recognize the symbol above Joseph's head. And what exactly was a "Chaos god", anyway?

Joseph placed his hands on either side of his head, like he was trying to keep his head from exploding. "No. No. This isn't happening. No. It's happening. It can't be true. It's true. It's true. It's true." He was having a breakdown. A lot of new campers did that. But Joseph's reaction was one of the worst he had ever seen. Travis watched as Joseph stood, and ran outside. "Joseph!" Chiron called, and wheeled after him. Travis followed without a word.

They found him outside, still muttering to himself. Then, he doubled over, and vomited up his entire breakfast on the ground. Slowly, he stood, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve, and turned to Chiron and Travis.

"It's true," he repeated, more slowly. "It can't be true, but it is. My father is Tzeentch. My father is the Changer of Ways." He panted, and a hint of color had returned to his face.

Chiron rolled up. He wore a confused expression, mingled with concern. "I don't understand. Who is 'Tzeentch'?"

Joseph took a deep breath. His mouth twitched, almost like a smile. "He's from a game. Warhammer. It's a tabletop strategy game. You take miniatures, and they fight out battles…" His face darkened. "The Chaos gods embody our emotions. Tzeentch is the manifestation of hope – the desire for change."

Travis quirked an eyebrow. "He doesn't sound so bad."

Joseph shook his head, grinning. "He's bad. All the Chaos gods are bad. Their followers bring nothing but death and destruction and torment and mutation. They aren't remotely human, not like the Olympians."

"If such beings existed," Mr. D said, "we would know of them." Travis turned to see him standing in the doorway, sipping his Coke.

"Wait," Chiron raised a hand. "We do know of Chaos – the formless void before creation." He looked at Joseph. "But you speak of multiple beings of Chaos."

Joseph shrugged. He seemed to have calmed down, or at least become distracted by the puzzle at hand. "What you call 'Chaos' likely refers to the Warp – the immaterial realm. 'Chaos' refers more to those who inhabit it – gods, daemons, and their human followers. As I said, the Chaos gods are manifestations of our emotions." His eyes lit up with an idea. "Perhaps the Olympians are what has prevented Chaos from threatening the Earth until now."

"But Tzeentch got through," Travis said. "He created you."

Joseph nodded. "Also, he – or the other gods – may have inspired the creation of the Warhammer games. There are two, actually – Warhammer Fantasy, which is set in a fantasy realm different from our own, and Warhammer 40,000, or '40k' set in the distant future."

Travis' brow furrowed. "And you believe we are in the world of Warhammer 40,000?"

Joseph shrugged again. "I don't know. It could be that neither game is a true reflection of reality, and that we're really in some sort of 'Warhammer Modern' setting. However, both also contain other races which share common traits, such as the elves of Warhammer Fantasy and the Eldar of Warhammer 40,000. It seems most likely that we're in the past of the 40k universe."

Mr. D yawned. "Does it really matter? So they made a game, and they produced one half-blood. I really don't see how this Chaos stuff is important."

Joseph fixed him with a fierce gaze. For the first time, Travis felt something strange from the kid. Something… wrong. He guessed it was whatever power he possessed. Joseph had been talking for a while about the Chaos powers, but Travis had forgotten that Joseph was also talking about his own father. Travis and the other campers all shared the blood of Olympus. Joseph was a son of the Warp.

"It's important," Joseph said slowly, "because in the 40k universe, you're dead." He let the word linger. "Not just you, Lord Dionysus. All of the Olympians. The Titans too. You're gone. You no longer exist."

"Joseph," Chiron responded, "the gods can't die. Not as long as Western civilization exists, they will always be there."

"And if it stops existing?" Joseph turned his gaze on Chiron. "If a new regime arises, devoted to different ideals, and crushes out all _memory_ of the Olympian gods? Of Greece itself? What happens then?"

Chiron was silent. Travis had never imagined that Western civilization could die. Even Mr. D seemed to take notice.

Travis spoke. "What should we do?"

Joseph started pacing. Travis could see the gears turning in his mind. "We need more information. We need to know more about Chaos…" He stopped, and looked at Travis and Chiron, his expression somber. "And I need to know more about who I am. If I'm the son of Tzeentch, I'm probably a psyker. I could take my mind into the Warp…"

Chiron nodded. "Perhaps. I am unfamiliar with this world."

Joseph gave him a smirk. "We'll have to change that. I'll get my sourcebooks and models from my house…" He stopped speaking. "Oh no. My parents! I left our beach house without telling them!"

Travis was taken aback by the sudden change in topic. "You did what?"

Joseph turned frantic. "I sensed the Lampads and went after them alone. They were still asleep when I left. They're probably worried sick about me!" He focused on Travis. "What should I do?"

Travis said nothing. Instead, he looked at Chiron.

"You're speaking of your adoptive parents, right? I believe you mentioned that your mortal parent – your mother – was in an insane asylum." Joseph nodded. Chiron continued, his voice that of a concerned teacher – in other words, normal for Chiron. "If you want to tell them, that is your choice, but it may well put them in danger, especially if you continue to associate with them."

Joseph said nothing, but he shook his head. Chiron looked grim.

"I see. Well, frankly, the other option is to simply run away. If your parents are still at their beach house, you might be able to return home and retrieve your possessions before they do. You'd hardly be the first half-blood to do so. Your parents could never find you here, no matter how long they searched. And as they are your adoptive parents… it's possible they could forget."

"Forget?" Now Joseph's voice was tinged with sadness. All talk of gods and Chaos had gone – this was about him, and his family. Travis felt sorry for him.

Chiron leaned forward slightly. "You remember the video? How it talked about the Mist?" Joseph nodded. "Well, sometimes, it can make mortals forget a person ever existed. I have some ability to manipulate the Mist – I could erase you from their memories. But be warned: if you do this, you will never be able to return home."

Joseph seemed to think about it. Travis wasn't stupid enough to think that just because they weren't his biological parents, he didn't love them. Unless Joseph was a psychopath, this was going to be one of the hardest decisions he ever made.

He looked up. "Make them forget. Can you do this to other people?" Chiron nodded. "Do it to my friends, the people at my school. Everyone… except the people at the Games Workshop in Greenwich Village." He smiled slightly. Chiron cocked his head to one side, confused. Joseph obviously understood the unspoken question. "I'm going to be keeping up the hobby, and I'll need a place to buy additional models."

"Are you sure?" Chiron asked. "About everyone?"

Joseph nodded slowly. "It's for the best. I can't just tear myself out of their lives. The pain that would put them through… I can't do that. It's easier to just take myself out of the world." He looked at Travis. "Travis, you think you could help me retrieve my stuff? I mean, you are a son of Hermes…"

Travis couldn't help but laugh. "Sure, Joseph. I'll help you. It'll be a piece of cake!"

* * *

JOSEPH REGENT

The camp van raced along the roads leading to Camp Half-Blood. While Travis pored over the Chaos Space Marines codex, Joseph was examining a program for the latest Broadway production of _Phantom of the Opera_. His adoptive father, Karl Regent, was the director. Joseph had been there on opening night, sitting next to Andrew Lloyd Webber himself.

It hadn't been easy. Joseph had elected to take everything in his room but the furniture. His books. His clothes. His computer. He'd even taken the blankets off of his bed. Joseph knew that anything he left behind would be gone for good. The program was one of several he'd kept in his desk – souvenirs of his dad's work.

Joseph had spent three minutes sitting on the stripped bed, considering whether or not he should take a last walk through their house. Eventually, he'd decided to do so. He thought of it as saying goodbye – an important way to give himself closure. He'd hit every room in the house, particularly that of his adoptive sister Denise. He'd miss her terribly. Well, without Joseph around his parents should have no problem paying her college tuition, unless of course she actually ended up at the Naval Academy. Denise Regent was 16 years old, a monster on the lacrosse field, and harbored ambitions to join the Marine Corps. Clarisse kind of reminded him of her.

The pain of leaving his family behind would linger for a long time. But Joseph had always been more logical than emotional. This was for the best. Travis had explained to him that monsters would smell out half-bloods, and hunt them down. Joseph couldn't put them at risk. And he wouldn't have to live a double life.

Joseph glanced back at the bags and boxes filling the back of the van. His eyes narrowed as he considered what to do with it all. There was no room in the Hermes cabin for any of it. And how would he do the studies he planned? He needed space.

When they returned to the camp, Chiron was waiting. He raised an eyebrow at how much Joseph had brought with him. "I see you decided to take everything," he quipped.

"Yeah, you know we can't fit all this in the cabin," Travis grunted under the weight of three bags of clothes. "You'll have to put it in the Attic."

"I've been thinking about that," Joseph said. "And… I think I might need my own cabin."

Chiron shook his head. "Sorry. Children of minor gods stay with Hermes. Camp rules."

Joseph frowned. "I think my father would take issue with being called a 'minor god'." Actually, Joseph figured that Tzeentch was more powerful than any individual Olympian, though not obviously more powerful than all of them combined.

Dionysus did not seem amused. "There is no precedent. There have always been twelve cabins, and twelve cabins will there be."

"I am without precedent," Joseph gave a humorless smile. A thought crossed his mind. "I'm not the son of an Olympian god at all. My father is of the Warp. I owe no allegiance to Olympus. However, I do intend to help you. My cabin would be like an embassy, or a military base of a foreign ally in your territory."

Chiron considered this for a moment. Joseph brought up his other barb.

"Also, I intend to conduct… experiments with regards to my powers. I will require a dedicated space for these activities."

Travis looked concerned. "What sort of activities?"

"Summoning daemons," Joseph replied without missing a beat. Travis, who had spent much of the ride back reading up on Chaos lore, went pale, and turned to Chiron. He took a deep breath.

"As counselor for the Hermes cabin, I think that Joseph's proposed activities would pose an… unacceptable risk to my cabin, so long as he stays there. I… heartily endorse his proposal for a separate cabin."

Joseph smiled, and turned to Dionysus. "You can choose the location. I have no intention of offering offense to Olympus, so feel free to stick me somewhere out of the way."

Dionysus and Chiron exchanged glances. "Will those activities pose a risk to the camp?" Chiron asked warily.

Joseph thought about it. "A slight risk. But nothing more serious than what you do when you summon monsters into camp to challenge the campers. I intend to take every precaution. And the benefits could be immeasurable."

"Benefits?" Dionysus looked skeptical. "What sort of benefits could dealing with those malevolent powers bring us?"

Joseph hesitated for a moment. Dealing with Chaos was dangerous – very dangerous. The Imperium was only as fanatical as it was because the threat of Chaos was so real. But there were those within the Imperium who used Chaos powers. And Joseph wasn't human – he was the son of Tzeentch. That made him part daemon, didn't it? Shouldn't that give him some advantage?

"There's a reason why the Chaos gods attract followers," he explained. "For those who follow them, Chaos offers a path to great power. You mentioned earlier that the Titans are making a comeback. Well, I imagine having at least one of the Ruinous Powers on our side could be useful."

"How do you even know that your father is on our side?" Dionysus asked.

"I don't," Joseph replied. "But it seems more likely than not. My arrival here cannot be a coincidence. My father wants me to help you. And I have to assume that being the son of Tzeentch would grant me power over his daemons. For the moment, at least, the survival of Olympus serves his interests. And I believe that building a dedicated cabin to him would help to curry his favor."

Chiron sighed. "I think your request is reasonable. With the camp in peril, we may need all the help we can get. Mr. D?" He glanced at the god, whose expression of suspicion had given way to his usual boredom.

"I suppose." He yawned. "You may build your embassy, Jose."

Joseph was irritated by Dionysus' habit of getting campers' names wrong, but he didn't let that show. He had just gotten permission to build his own cabin – the first new cabin at Camp Half-Blood. Instead, he gave a small bow.

"Thank you, Lord Dionysus. I will have a design for you within an hour."


	3. Joseph Meets The Prime Minister

JOSEPH REGENT

That night, Joseph lay down on the bed in the Hermes cabin. He had been told that during the summer, the cabin was packed with campers, and new arrivals slept in sleeping bags on the floor. But as it was only May, there were a few beds free.

Given that it was his first day, he hadn't directly participated in most of the usual camp activities. After putting all of his things in the attic in the Big House (and meeting the Oracle), Clarisse had given him the tour. He'd watched the archery contest, and attempted a rendition of "The Music of the Night" at the campfire. Tomorrow, he'd get a proper schedule.

He was exhausted. More emotionally than physically. Today was more than just the most significant day of his life. He might as well have been born yesterday, for all that his first fourteen years mattered. He was a different person. He was no longer Joseph Regent, adopted son of Karl and Amanda Regent. He was Joseph, the son of Tzeentch and Gallina Thompson. He'd always been slightly bothered by the knowledge that his biological mother was insane. Now mere insanity seemed safe compared to the terrors of the Warp.

A thought entered his head. The Warp. He had read of it, of course. He knew what it was. He recalled a passage from some novel where an Imperial warship's Gellar field had failed, and the ship had been overrun by daemons. He wondered if that particular novel was merely a work of fiction, or whether it would actually happen. But he did not doubt that it reflected reality. At the same time, he felt drawn to it. If he closed his eyes and looked inward, he could feel its power inside of him.

He had so many questions. He needed answers. But he didn't have anyone to ask. He was the local expert on Warhammer. He supposed that the Emperor, wherever and whoever he currently was, would have a lot of the answers, but Joseph had no clue how to find him. Right now, before the time of the Imperium, the only source of information would be the Warp itself.

Or, to be precise, its inhabitants.

He recalled his earlier idea – that he might take his mind into the Warp, seek out the daemons of Chaos. His eyes widened when he realized that the idea wasn't his. Not originally. He'd seen it in the Lampads' fires. He hadn't understood it then, and he'd been focused on dealing with the Lampads anyway.

It was risky, he knew. Many a Chaos incursion began when daemons whispered to untrained psykers. But Joseph couldn't handle flying blind like this. And he had one advantage – he knew the nature of daemons. He would offer them no services, no matter the knowledge they offered. He would make no promises of any kind. He would ask questions. If he was lucky, the daemons would answer. If they refused, or if they asked him to do so much as twitch his finger, he would leave.

He closed his eyes, and looked inside.

* * *

He was standing on a cliff edge. Behind him, a tunnel led through a rock face to his lone bed. The Lampad's torch was in his hand, and burned bright with madness once more.

Out in front of him was the Warp. Lightning bolts that must have spanned light-years shot across his field of view. Currents of energy twisted, split, and merged. Above, a terrible warp storm was brewing. A thousand terrible screams echoed through the din. Daemons cavorted through the sea of madness, laughing and shrieking. A wind of nothingness blew past him.

Joseph cocked his head, and studied the strange vision. He hadn't expected this. Well, to be precise, he hadn't expected to _see_ so much. He'd also expected some mental strain – merely perceiving the Warp and its inhabitants could break a lesser mind, and the majority of psykers, both Imperial and Chaos, were insane to one degree or another. But he didn't seem to be having a problem with it.

He was part daemon. That had to be it. He was, after all, the son of Tzeentch. Like Clarisse or Travis, he shared some of his divine parent's essence. In his case, that made him part daemon. He could walk in both the mortal and material realms.

His eye caught a flight of daemons. There were seventeen of them, colored dark blue, and shaped much like great manta rays. They screamed, and Joseph found that he could understand them. Unfortunately, they weren't saying much, merely expressing their hunger. But this was still good. They were Screamers – and Screamers were daemons of Tzeentch.

"Hey!" he called out to them. Instantly, the Screamers halted their movement, and turned towards him, their screams dying. For a moment, Joseph thought they might attack, but their body language was wrong (although he had no idea how he could read the body language of a daemon). Their expressions were… submissive. He did nothing, and they simply hovered there. Waiting.

He pointed at the nearest one. "Come here." The Screamer obeyed, while its companions waited patiently. It came to rest next to the edge. Joseph looked at it, and then he looked out into the Warp. If he was part daemon, he might have some ability to navigate the Warp on his own, but he wasn't going to take many chances. He climbed onto its back, still clutching the torch. "Fly," he commanded it.

The Screamer flapped its wings, and took off. Joseph looked back at its fellows. "Follow us," he ordered. They flapped after.

* * *

As they flew through the Warp, Joseph wondered what to do next. He had no idea where exactly to go for answers. Maybe he should seek out one of the Lords of Change? He reconsidered that. They were the mightiest daemons of Tzeentch, and could prove too powerful for him.

Then an idea came to him. He so far seemed to be able to command the Screamers. It stood to reason that he might have power over other servants of Tzeentch. If so, it would be a good idea to test how much influence he had.

"Turn left," he said to the Screamer he rode.

The Screamer turned left.

"Turn right."

The Screamer turned right.

"Do a barrel roll."

The Screamer twisted its wings, and did a full three-sixty barrel roll. Joseph smiled. Then his smile vanished, as another idea crossed his head. Stunts were one thing, but would these daemons obey him without question?

To his left and down, Joseph spotted an eddy in the Warp. He could feel it pulling him towards it, although the Screamer seemed to be able to avoid it. He turned his head to see the other Screamers behind him. He pointed to a random one.

"Fly into that eddy."

The Screamer broke off from the group, and dove straight for the eddy. As it entered, Joseph saw it get torn apart, and heard its death scream. He recoiled in surprise. He had just ordered it to die, and it had obeyed.

Then he saw it. Flying overhead. A massive bird – except it wasn't a bird. It had the wings and head of a bird, but its body was humanoid, if rather gangly. Its skin and feathers changed color constantly. It seemed to be flying upside-down, although up and down didn't have much meaning here in the Warp. It was one of the Lords of Change, the mighty servants of Tzeentch.

Then it looked up, straight at him.

"I hope you aren't going to order me to fly into that eddy," it said wryly.

Joseph gave a thin smile. "And if I did?"

"Then I would no doubt meet the same fate as that Screamer." The Lord of Change descended and flipped around, coming alongside Joseph. Its voice was surprisingly human, although it was deep and resonant. "But I know you won't. Your father gives me visions of events to come, and I do not see an imminently painful death in my future." It waved a gangly, clawed hand, and a wooden platform appeared up ahead. "Come. We must talk, you and I."

Joseph decided to follow it. As he got closer, he saw a single comfortable chair. "Come to a stop next to the platform," he commanded. As the Screamer obeyed, the Lord of Change made a graceful landing. Then, he shifted his form, his wings folding behind him, his beak shrinking back into his face. Seconds later, Joseph was face to face with Chiron, sitting in his wheelchair, a gentle expression on his face. "Take a seat, Joseph," he said, gesturing to the chair.

Joseph wasn't amused. He turned to the Screamers. "Surround the platform." They obeyed, englobing the platform, jaws facing it. Joseph turned back to Daemon Chiron. "I hope you aren't trying to fool me with that form."

Chiron's face took on a grin. "Of course not. I merely chose a form I thought you would be comfortable with."

Joseph shook his head. "It's not working. Although…" he raised a finger, "you can take on the form of any person?" The daemon nodded. "Then I command you to take the form of… Winston Churchill."

The daemon shifted again. Chiron's face widened. His clothes changed, from a "#1 Centaur" t-shirt into a suit, with a white silk shirt, black jacket, and a red bowtie. A cigar appeared in his mouth, and his wheelchair became a chair identical to the one Joseph stood next to.

Joseph smiled. "I think I like this form better. In fact, I think I will call you Winston from now on." He sat down in the chair.

Winston smiled back. "You may call me whatever you like. I have heard far, far worse names." He spoke with an English accent now – in fact, he sounded almost exactly like the recordings of Winston Churchill Joseph had heard in history class.

"So, I can command the daemons of Tzeentch, it would seem," Joseph said casually.

Winston nodded. "You can, although your father's commands override yours." He chewed on his cigar. "And before you ask, yes, he sent me, to provide you with information. I will not attempt to deceive you, although there are some things Tzeentch has not told me, and others he has forbidden me from telling you."

Joseph shifted in his chair. It wasn't that surprising. Tzeentch wouldn't want to make things too easy.

"OK, first question. What is Warhammer? What I've seen matches up with its past, but I need to know the truth. Is it a prophecy?"

Winston frowned. "Well, I can tell you that the universe right now does seem to match up with the Warhammer setting… with one exception." He reached over to a bookcase that wasn't there before, and retrieved a copy of the core rulebook. He flipped through it, then showed it to Joseph. It was open to the timeline of the future.

"I don't know why, but this book has the Fall of the Eldar, and the birth of Slaanesh, as occurring in several thousand years. It happened during your Middle Ages. The creation of the Eye of Terror is actually what made the Void Dragon stir. Good thing the Emperor locked him up in Mars."

Joseph was troubled. He'd wondered if Slaanesh existed yet. He wasn't that surprised, but it added yet another threat. On top of it, of all the other Chaos gods, Slaanesh was the most likely to have half-bloods of his own. "Do you know where the Emperor is? Who he is?"

Winston shook his head. "Not right now. Last we saw of him, he was the astronomer Carl Sagan. But after Sagan 'died', he vanished. Tzeentch probably knows where he is, but he hasn't told me."

Joseph raised an eyebrow. He knew that the Emperor had appeared throughout history, posing as various historical figures. The best known ones were religious leaders, but Sagan made sense as well. Of course, that didn't help his current problem.

"But to answer your earlier question," Winston continued, "the game and its lore appear to be something of a prophecy. I don't know if Tzeentch was involved. It's possible that whoever did it was simply a psyker. And I wouldn't rule out Eldar involvement either." Joseph nodded, while Winston puffed on a cigar. "And now, I believe it is time for you to go."

"Go?" Joseph's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"You forget, time passes differently in the Warp. You must soon awaken. You will have a busy day tomorrow."

Joseph looked to his right. To his surprise, the platform was now adjoining the rocky cliff where he had first appeared in the Warp. The tunnel leading to his bed was open. He looked at Winston, who only smiled.

"Thank you, Winston," he said as he stood up.

"It is my pleasure," Winston stood as well. "I will call you when it is time for another lesson." He set down his cigar, and shifted back into his avian form. He took off, leaving Joseph alone.


	4. Silena Flips Out

CLARISSE LA RUE

Clarisse was studying the arrow she had just fired into a target dummy when she saw Joseph sauntering over. He was now wearing an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt and denim shorts. He held a piece of paper in his left hand.

"Hey, Clarisse!" he called, waving at her with his other hand.

"Hey, Joseph," she replied, lowering her bow. Clarisse liked Joseph, even if he was a bit scrawny. It probably had to do with him helping her slay the Lampads yesterday, which added a torch to her impressive rack of trophies, and saved three of her siblings in the process. That was also why she had decided to forgo the usual initiation ritual of dunking new campers' heads in the toilet.

"So," he looked down at the paper, "I have archery now, I guess. Think you could show me? I've never even tried to shoot a bow before."

Clarisse smiled. Normally, it was the Apollo campers who got to help the newbies with archery. Even Clarisse had to admit that they were better at it than they were, but she was still good. Joseph didn't look like he had the makings of a good archer, but you never knew.

"Sure," Clarisse said, with a meaningful glance at Michael Yew, one of the Apollo campers. She retrieved one of the smaller bows, while Joseph took a quiver and a handful of arrows. He took up a stance similar to the one she had been in, albeit with his legs much too close together.

"Stand with your legs wider apart," Clarisse instructed him. He complied. "Better. Now, pull back…" Joseph pulled back, although not very far. "More!" The arrow moved another half-inch. Then, without being told, Joseph fired. The arrow flew through the air, landing on the ground about six feet from the target.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. This was going to take a lot of work.

Joseph shrugged, then took another, more studied look at the arrow. "On the bright side, at least it's in line with the target."

Clarisse didn't smile. Yes, the arrow was in line. But good aim wouldn't help Joseph if he couldn't get an arrow to fly very far. "Come on. I'll bring the target closer." As she set off, she looked back to see him nocking another arrow. "And don't point that thing anywhere while I'm downrange, or I'll break your fingers!"

Joseph blushed.

* * *

JOSEPH REGENT

Ten minutes later, Joseph had fired off a dozen more arrows. Of them, only three had hit the target. Four had fallen short, and five had gone the distance but missed. He was angry. This was his first activity, and he wanted to make a good impression on the other campers. And Tzeentch's followers were traditionally ranged specialists. But despite Clarisse's tutelage, he wasn't doing so well.

"Hey, Joseph!" Michael Yew called. "Maybe you should try learning from someone else! Say, someone whose dad is the god of archery!"

Clarisse shot them an angry look. Joseph ignored the remark. Maybe he just had to work at it, he thought. Maybe with time, he'd get better.

But then something else stirred in him. He'd felt it before, when he'd seen into the torches of the Lampads. It was the Warp. He looked at the target, and tried to imagine it was an enemy. He pictured a Necron warrior, skeletal and menacing, emotionless green eyes staring at him, metal hands grasping a gauss flayer. The energy burned hotter, and he felt a tinge of hatred. Of all the Chaos gods, Tzeentch had always opposed the Necrons the most.

He set down the bow, and raised his empty left hand, fingers spread outward. Tendrils of blue energy formed around his hand and forearm. Clarisse gaped, but Joseph wasn't really surprised. As he had guessed, he was a psyker. Under his breath, he spoke a single word.

"_Doombolt."_

Three bolts of blue-white energy spat from his hand in quick succession, screaming downrange as fast as any arrow. They slammed into the target dummy, easily penetrating its armor, leaving three smoldering holes all the way through.

Joseph grinned, and unleashed a second salvo. This time, he didn't say anything, he just pictured the three bolts. Then a third. This time one bolt missed, but the other two struck home. There wasn't much left of the dummy at this point.

Joseph turned to Clarisse, then to the others practicing. Everyone was staring in shock, with mouths open. Joseph replaced the bow and arrows on the rack. He felt a little fatigued, just as he had been after firing the arrows, but he wanted to continue.

A thought came into his head, and he pulled the schedule out of his pocket. He took out a mechanical pencil, and where his schedule said "Archery Practice" he crossed out the word "archery". Above it, he wrote "target".

* * *

After archery, Joseph went down to the sword pit, full of confidence. Now that he knew what he was capable of, he felt ready to take on the world.

One thing that had surprised Joseph was how self-run the campers' activities were. Senior campers handled most of the training and instruction. Here, a wiry Athena camper who could probably have played forward for the Knicks assigned campers into pairs.

"Joseph, you'll be working with Silena Beauregard," he said with a smirk. Silena, the stunningly beautiful head of the Aphrodite cabin, pouted for a few seconds before getting up and stepping into the arena. She was eager to help fit Joseph with a set of armor, and spent an unreasonable amount of time making sure he looked just right. Finally, she stepped back, and took up a fighting stance. Joseph tried mimicking it.

Silena sighed. "Hold your sword higher!" Joseph complied, although the sword was rather heavy. "Widen your stance!" Joseph did so. The next minute was spent perfecting his stance. Joseph sensed reluctance in Silena – she apparently didn't want to do any actual fighting.

"OK," she said, resuming her own stance. "Now, attack me."

Joseph studied her for a moment. His body tensed, and he charged, hoping to overwhelm her defenses in a single blow. Silena was older than Joseph, but they were both about the same size, and she wasn't particularly muscled.

But Silena moved quickly, swinging her sword to meet Joseph's. Joseph flinched, and that was his undoing. Silena easily deflected his attack, and then knocked him on his back. Joseph groaned, and got back up.

"Again!"

Joseph attacked again and again. He tried feinting her out, but his attempts were clumsy and easy for her to see coming. And she turned out to be stronger and faster than him after all. He did get better at staying on his feet, but he couldn't stop flinching when he saw her blade coming.

Then, he sensed something in her. A surge of aggression. She was going to attack! Joseph stepped back quickly, and Silena's blade flashed through the air where he had been standing. She frowned. Joseph could tell she was disappointed that he had dodged her.

Silena looked at Joseph. The aggression had faded. She was studying him now. Joseph did the same. Only in addition to seeing her expression, hearing her breathing, and smelling her expensive perfume, another sense was at work. She lunged again, but this one was half-hearted, and Joseph easily avoided the blow.

A mental image appeared in his mind. He saw himself through the eyes of another. That person moved to Joseph's right, then quickly shifted to attack his left. He realized that he was seeing himself through Silena's eyes – and that he was seeing what she was planning to do!

When she moved again, Joseph moved to his left. He wasn't as fast as Silena, but he took her off guard. It also helped that he was left-handed anyway. He caught her sword before it was in position, and knocked it aside as he stepped inside her guard. He brought up his armored forearm and struck her in the face. Hard. Silena cried out, and when she stepped back, her lip was split and her makeup completely smeared. She rubbed her face where he had hit her, and glared at him with renewed fury.

Another mental image appeared. It was Joseph lying in bed, wrapped in bandages, leg in a cast.

Silena attacked again. No tricks this time. Just raw anger. Joseph knew what she was going to do, but his advantage wasn't enough. She was just too fast. She struck again and again, until their blades met, and locked guards. Silena twisted, and Joseph's sword came easily out of his hand, falling to the ground. Joseph stumbled back. Silena looked at him again, with blood in her eyes.

Joseph did the only thing he could do. He raised his hand, and imagined the three bolts again. Only this time, they were blunted. They shot from his hand, striking Silena in the chest, knocking her back at least two feet before she fell down. She groaned in pain – and Joseph could feel it too. He didn't feel it as if it was his own body, but he felt it just the same.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, and looked at Joseph. He turned scarlet, and ran off.

* * *

CHIRON

Chiron was sitting outside the infirmary when Joseph came up. He was still wearing his armor, and he wore a sheepish look on his face. His pale skin was streaked with sweat.

"Glad to see you didn't run away," Chiron said. It had been less than twenty minutes since the incident at the swordpit. Silena had been taken to the infirmary right away. While the Apollo campers had taken care of her, Chiron had waited here. He had expected Joseph to do one of two things. Either he would run away from camp, or he would come to the infirmary. "Where did you go, if I may ask?"

"I kinda hid behind the Ares cabin," he replied. "I just needed some time to collect my thoughts. I did think about running away… but I decided that would be stupid."

Chiron chuckled. "I suppose it would. After all, where would you go?"

Joseph shrugged, and his mouth twitched. He looked down, then at the door. "How is she?"

"She's pretty bruised," Chiron replied. "The blow to her face was nothing to be concerned with, but I'm afraid that little spell of yours cracked two of her ribs, and left her with some serious bruising. Fortunately, a little ambrosia ought to fix her up by tomorrow."

Joseph sighed in relief. "That's good to hear. That spell was at full power. If I hadn't blunted it…" He smiled weakly. "Well, in the game, that spell can penetrate the power armor used by Space Marines. Against Greek battle armor… it would probably have killed her outright."

Chiron frowned. He'd perused the background information in the core Warhammer 40,000 book. It had contained quite a bit about the dangers posed by psykers. The thought that Joseph might accidentally kill a fellow camper...

He shook his head. Half-bloods were sturdier than humans, and campers had always trained with real weapons and armor. Serious injuries did occur, often worse than what Joseph had done to Silena. It had been years since the last accidental death. And Joseph _had_ blunted his spell.

"I would like to hear more about what happened before you knocked her down," Chiron said. "Darryl Hayden was watching you with Silena. He said that you were possibly the worst fighter he'd ever seen… until you started dodging Silena's attacks."

Joseph thought for a moment. "Well, sir, I haven't quite gotten around to mentioning this, but as I recall, the orientation video said that half-bloods are often diagnosed with ADHD, because of their natural battle instincts."

Chiron nodded. "Even the daughters of Aphrodite, although they generally avoid combat when possible."

"Well, I don't have ADHD. Or dyslexia. And my schools had good support for kids with learning disabilities, so I don't think they just missed me. I had next to no idea what I was doing in there."

Chiron raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Joseph nodded. "I guess it's because I'm not an Olympian half-blood. Silena was kicking my butt. But then I discovered another power of mine." He took a deep breath. "I can read minds. I was able to dodge Silena's attacks because I knew exactly what she was going to do before she did it."

Chiron felt his heart beat faster. _Can you read my thoughts_, he asked silently.

"Yes," Joseph replied, grinning now. "But I think you let me have that one." He cocked his head to one side, and looked intently at Chiron. "Yeah, I think it's just surface thoughts. I can't search your memories."

Chiron's eyes narrowed. "You just tried to, I take it?"

Joseph nodded. "Yeah. I was trying to find out your favorite movie."

Chiron felt relieved. "Oh. It's _Casablanca_."

Joseph smiled. "Good choice. Anyway, I think I can control it," he continued. "It's like not looking at someone. It takes conscious thought, but I can choose not to read your mind if I want."

"It would probably be best if you avoided reading the minds of your fellow campers," Chiron added.

"Agreed," Joseph nodded. "Anyway, I think I ought to go in and apologize to Silena Beauregard."

To Joseph's surprise, Silena wasn't angry at him anymore. "I just don't like people messing with my makeup," she said. She didn't even frown when he mentioned his newfound telepathy, and she accepted his apology.

Afterwards, Joseph went to lunch. That afternoon, he studied Greek mythology with Chiron. Ancient Greek was a nightmare, given that Joseph's own brain wasn't wired for it. He'd managed to get down the Greek alphabet, but that was probably it for now.

That evening, Joseph joined the Hermes cabin at dinner. While Dionysus had agreed to allow Joseph to build his own cabin, there was still the camp rule that campers sat at their cabin tables, and there was no table for Tzeentch. So Joseph had elected to remain at the Hermes table, particularly as his own cabin was nothing more than a few markers out on the northern edge of camp, between the beach and the climbing wall.

When the campers approached the bonfire to give their offerings, Joseph said a silent prayer to Tzeentch. _Thank you, father, for giving me your power._ Joseph had no real love for Tzeentch, but he did not intend to insult his father by refusing him any favors. He tossed in a juicy cluster of grapes. He rather doubted that Tzeentch actually cared about the smell, but it was the thought that mattered. Especially when his gratitude was genuine.


	5. The Bloody Housewarming Party

JOSEPH REGENT

Joseph slid into the chair. It was really quite comfortable. He rested his arms on the table, and steepled his fingers. "Hello, Winston," he said, smiling.

Winston sat opposite Joseph, puffing on his cigar. "Good to see you again. Sorry to hear about Chiron being fired."

Joseph's smile faded at the reminder. "Yeah, it sucks. I can't believe Zeus blames him for poisoning Thalia's Tree. It's pretty obvious it was an agent of the Titans, probably a half-blood." He folded his hands in his lap. "Let's get straight to the point. Why did you call me here?"

Winston rested his hand on the armrest, the cigar still smoking. "It is time for another lesson."

Joseph was irritated. "Obviously."

Winston took a deep breath. "Your father wishes me to teach you how to summon daemons."

Joseph wasn't surprised. He had guessed that this was a strong possibility. "I presume this is more than a theoretical exercise. He wants me to actually summon them."

Winston nodded. "Indeed. He told me you would have need of daemonic assistance."

That was probably true. He'd spent a lot of time on patrol over the last few weeks, and it was clear that the camp's magical barriers were fading to the point of nonexistence. A few daemons could certainly help. However, summoning daemons was certainly risky…

"I hope he doesn't want me to try to open a warp portal." Joseph smiled thinly. "I've heard those can be a headache." In fact, it would entail Joseph _becoming_ the portal, which would be immediately fatal to himself, and subsequently fatal to just about everyone.

Winston chuckled. "You might say. But no, this will be on a smaller scale. Instead of an army, you'll be able to summon individual daemons."

That sounded a lot better. Joseph felt he could safely summon a Pink Horror or Screamer. Even if it got out of control, he and Clarisse ought to be able to kill it. In fact, he had gotten his own cabin primarily on the basis that he needed a ritual space. And now that said cabin was complete, he ought to be using it.

"The thing about summoning daemons," Winston continued, "is that you must break through the barriers separating our world from the Immaterium. For most casters, nothing less than the sacrifice of a human life would do it."

Joseph inhaled sharply at that, and his eyes narrowed.

"Fortunately, there is another way for you." Joseph relaxed at that. But he didn't quite like the way Winston was looking at him. "You are, in your own way, a creature of the Warp. A single drop of your blood would be enough to make a tiny crack, which could be widened to allow daemons through."

"So," Joseph said slowly, considering this information, "I'll just need to cut myself whenever I wish to summon daemons?"

Winston shook his head slowly. "Not necessarily." He took another drag on his cigar. "You already have the solution to that problem."

Joseph stared at him for a few moments. Then, he realized what Winston was talking about. "The cabin!"

Winston nodded. "You have built a holy site for Chaos. If you were to… consecrate it… you would open a crack that would be tied to the site. You should then be able to summon daemons fairly easily. As for how to consecrate it… there is no single way. I will leave it to you to find a way. Consider what you know of Chaos, and make an offering you think appropriate. I have confidence in your abilities… as does your father."

That last bit warmed Joseph's heart. Most campers tended to resent their divine parents for not taking a more active role in their lives, and cherished what attention they got. Joseph's feelings were rather different – he regarded Tzeentch with a combination of fear and distrust – but even so, he couldn't help but feel some pride, knowing that his father believed Joseph was up to the task.

Assuming, of course, Tzeentch wasn't lying.

Churchill stood, and gestured to Joseph's bed. "Go. You have homework."

* * *

CLARISSE LA RUE

Clarisse stood around the ritual circle. Joseph had summoned her along with representatives from every cabin. Normally, members of one cabin did not enter another, but Joseph was quite welcoming of visitors. Clarisse suspected it had to do with his upbringing – surely the Regents had hosted their fair share of house parties.

The Tzeentch cabin was built more like a temple. Joseph had used a depiction from some Warhammer game as a guide. The actual cabin took up only half of the area Joseph had been allotted. It was built from dark grey stone shot through with veins of crystal, some of which glowed at night. As it was currently mid-afternoon, they instead glittered in the sunlight.

Joseph's bunk was pushed to one side, next to a bookcase filled with sci-fi novels. Across the room was a desk and computer. A shelf held miniatures and painting supplies. And in the center of the room was a large table for wargaming, with a few rocks strewn about the surface, along with a thick hardcover copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_.

The other half of the cabin's area was the ritual circle. It was a large circle, made from the same stone as the cabin, with eight strips of bronze radiating from the center, forming the eight-pointed star of Chaos. Each strip terminated at a Greek-style column. Each column was decorated with blue banners bearing the golden flame emblem of Tzeentch, and blue-white fires burned in braziers atop the columns.

The representatives from the various cabins stood in front of each of the columns. All were the senior members of their cabins, except for Michael Oversteegen, the son of Athena. Michael had been the only other Warhammer player when Joseph had arrived, so his presence made sense despite his lack of seniority. He was tall and slender, with brown hair, a patrician nose, and the storm-grey eyes common to the children of Athena. He came from a wealthy Southern family – his dad was an admiral or something – and he normally projected an aura of self-confidence. Right now, however, he was clearly afraid.

Joseph stood in the center. His expression was grim, and he too was obviously afraid. He wore a blue robe over his armor, and one hand held a celestial bronze dagger. He looked around the circle, taking in everyone's expressions, and spoke.

"I imagine you're all wondering why I've called you here," he said, his voice tinged with humor. Clarisse recognized what he was doing – trying to keep everyone calm, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Travis Stoll raised a hand. "Uh, we're going to summon a daemon?" he asked, his cheeks turning red.

Joseph smiled thinly. "You're not wrong. But there's more to it. You see, in order to summon a daemon, we must make a tear in the barriers between reality and the Warp."

A chill went down Clarisse's spine. Since Joseph's arrival, he had been educating the campers on Warhammer lore, with an emphasis on Chaos, daemons, and the Warp. She knew that daemons couldn't break through to our world on their own. Joseph was proposing to create a breach, one that might let them do so.

Joseph held up his empty hand. "Obviously, I have no intention of opening a large breach. Just a crack, really. Enough to allow me to summon daemons here when I choose… but only when I choose. If necessary, I should be able to close the breach completely."

Silena Beauregard cocked her head to one side. "So… what do you need us for?"

Joseph turned to face her. "To create the breach, we must make a blood offering. For most Chaos cults, that would mean a human sacrifice. Often a large one. The life-force of those killed would be used to create the breach."

Clarisse tightened her grip on her spear. Surely Joseph didn't mean to sacrifice them!

He smiled. "Fortunately, I have found another way. You see, we have an advantage that no cult ever had – or, will have, I guess." He spread his arms wide, gesturing around the circle. "We are demigods." He spoke that sentence in a rather dramatic tone, which made Clarisse smile a bit. Joseph seemed to be more confident now that he was explaining things, which was probably good.

"How does that change things?" Travis Stoll asked.

"We're more than mortal," Joseph replied. "You are all the children of Olympus. I am the son of a Chaos god. All that we really need to give is a bit of blood. The blood of eight demigods, each the child of a different Olympian. That has power, especially if the blood is given willingly."

"Eight demigods," Michael Oversteegen said in a southern drawl. "Eight is the sacred number of Chaos."

Joseph nodded. "Exactly."

Travis Stoll looked at Joseph with annoyance. "What about you? Won't you be offering any of your blood?"

Joseph turned to Travis. "Don't worry. I'm not going to make you do anything I won't. My blood is the key. I'm partly of the Warp. And to boot, eight of you plus one of me makes nine, the sacred number of Tzeentch. That will make this portal specific to Tzeentch. The daemons of other gods will be unable to use it. Which is important, because I don't believe I will have the same influence over them that I do over the daemons of Tzeentch."

Clarisse understood. Except for one thing.

"If you can control the daemons of Tzeentch," she asked, "why did you have us all come armed and armored?"

Joseph's voice was bitter. "Because I don't trust my father completely. I don't know if my control will be as complete in the real world as it was in the Warp. If I can't control the daemon, we will have to kill it." He took a deep breath. "Any more questions?"

The circle was silent.

"Then let's begin. As you make the offering, speak your name, and that of your divine parent."

He approached Miranda Gardiner, and handed her the knife. "Just a few drops," he whispered. Miranda set down her sickle, and drew the edge of the knife across her palm. Blood welled up, and she tilted her palm, letting it drip onto the bronze. "Miranda Gardiner, daughter of Demeter," she intoned.

Joseph produced a cloth bandage from inside his robe, and quickly wrapped it around his hand. He glanced at Lee Fletcher, and nodded. He took the knife from her, and moved around the circle. Clarisse was next.

"Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares," she said, watching as the red blood splattered onto the circle. Joseph bound her hand, and moved on.

"Michael Oversteegen, son of Athena."

"Lee Fletcher, son of Apollo."

"Charles Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus."

"Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite."

"Travis Stoll, son of Hermes."

"Castor Merlot, son of Dionysus."

As Castor finished, Joseph took the knife, and stepped into the center of the circle. He held out his own hand, and cut it the same way the others had. "Joseph Regent, son of Tzeentch." After binding his hand, he produced the Lampad torch, and held it up high. Joseph had done something with the torch, turning it into a focus for his powers.

Clarisse felt something pulling on her stomach. Faint tendrils of energy snaked from where she and her fellow campers had spilled their blood, meeting at the torch, which shone with a violet light. The light grew brighter, and brighter, until she had to avert her eyes.

Then, there was a bright flash, and she heard the sound of feet hitting stone. The light faded, and she opened her eyes. At the center of the circle stood one of the most horrific creatures she had ever laid eyes on. It was six feet tall, with two legs and three arms arranged around its body, which was little more than a pair of eyes and a huge mouth, filled with razor-sharp teeth and a long purple tongue. Its skin was a bright shade of pink, and seemed to shift around constantly. A few tentacles sprouting from the back of its head completed the loathsome picture.

The creature turned around, and looked at the demigods. Then it saw Joseph, and knelt before him. Joseph smiled, and clapped his hands.

"Uh… did it work?" Travis asked.

Joseph nodded. "Indeed it did. This, my friends, is a Pink Horror. A footsoldier daemon of Tzeentch." He looked down at the daemon. "Rise," he commanded. The daemon stood up, still facing Joseph. Clarisse could tell that it held Joseph in awe.

Joseph stepped forward. He reached out gingerly with his bandaged hand, still clutching the dagger. He brushed the back of his hand along the daemon's skin. "He… seems to be stable," he said in a quiet tone. "He'll last a little while, I think…"

Clarisse wondered how he knew that the daemon was a "he". The creature seemed _wrong_. She wanted to drive her spear through its body, kill it now. Her grip tightened on the spear…

The sound of a horn interrupted her train of thought. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. West. _The patrol!_ She had left Darryl Hayden in command while she attended the ritual.

"We're under attack!" she shouted. Everyone took a step back, their eyes swiveling to focus on her. Silena turned a little pale. Everyone took up their weapons. Clarisse raised her spear. "To arms!"

"To arms!" they replied, and nine armed campers surged out of the circle through the camp. Accompanied by one Pink Horror of Tzeentch.

Oddly, Clarisse no longer had any desire to slay the daemon. In fact, she was looking forward to unleashing the terrors of the Warp upon their monstrous foes.


End file.
